Hawksong
by harry.is.a.brave.fool
Summary: Harry Potter will do anything to end the war that has been raging his country for centuries. Even if it means accepting Severus Snape, the terrifying leader of his kind's greatest enemy, as his pair bond and make the two royal families one. HP/SS
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this.

_**Prologue**_

_Legend says our line first began with a man named Godric, a human raised by hawks. He learned the sweet trill of birdsong and was gifted with their form. _

_It is a pretty tale, I admit, but hardly anyone believes it. There are no records dating so far back._

_No record apart from the feathers in every Gryffindor's hair, even while we otherwise appear human, and the wings I can grow when I desire – and of course the beautiful golden hawk's form that is as natural to me as the legs and arms I wear normally._

_We hear many stories about our kind during childhood. This legend is one of them, but nothing in it explains reality or the hard lessons we are taught later._

_Before we are taught to fly, we learn to hate. We learn of war. We learn of the race that calls itself the Slytherin. We learn that they are deceitful, that they are liars and faithful to no one. We learn to dread the crimson eyes of their royal family even though we will almost certainly never see them._

_And we never learn how the fighting began. There is no reason for centuries of slaughter and bloodshed; no reason for the horrors that every parent has learnt to fear; no reason for mindless bloodshed; and no reason why I am the last of the royal line. No, that has been lost. Instead we learn that they have butchered our family and loved ones. We learn that these enemies are evil, that their sin knows no bounds, and that they would kill us if they could. _

_That is all we learn._

_That is all _I _have learnt._

_Days and weeks and years, and all I know is the terrible screams of my sister as she was torn apart; and the empty look in her eyes as she lay upon the ground broken and bleeding. And I see the satisfaction in their eyes, as they watched her suffering. _

_I hum the songs my mother once sung to me and wish for the peace they promise. Peace I have never known, nor my mother, nor her mother before her. _

_How many more? How many of our soldiers fallen? How many more innocent children thrown into the graves of the dead because it is easier to die than live on?_

_Meaningless hatred; the hatred of an enemy with no face. No one knows why we fight; they only know that we will continue to fight until we win a war it is too late to win, until we have avenged too many dead to avenge, until no one can remember peace anymore, even in songs. And they will listen to stories of times long past in wonder, because they have known only hate._

_Days and weeks and years._

_My brother never returned home last night._

_Days and weeks and years._

_How long until I am found?_

**Author's notes:**

Well. This is based on Hawksong, by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, another one of my favourite books. Just so you know, I won't be updating 'The Seer and The Sword' for another month or so. Sorry.

Please review!

Oh, and a little note: Chapters one to five will be borrowing HEAVILY from Hawksong. Just thought I'd warn you... :)


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and barely avoided heaving from the metallic, well-known stench that surrounded me.

The smell of hot Gryffindor blood trickling through the grass, pooling in small, shallow puddles; and the cruel Slytherin corpses that looked vaguely threatening even as they lay there, lifeless. The smell of burned hair and feathers and skin of the dead smoking in the fire of a dropped lantern. Only the rain had kept the fire from spreading to the city.

And then I heard it: the raw, aching howl of a man in pain.

I started to make my way toward the sound. Stepping through the trees into a small clearing, I came upon a scene which had my knees buckling out from underneath me; my breath coming in short, painful gasps.

My youngest brother, my only brother, lay motionless in the dirt; his face smeared with blood and sweat. Muddied hair, once healthy and golden, now bunched together in oily clumps, falling over his eyes. His face was pale-grey in the early morning sun, and covered with a light sheen of dew.

Like our father and sister, like our aunts and uncles and too many of our friends, Matthew Potter was abandoned to live out his last moments in fear and pain, without a steady hand to hold, without a mother's arms for comfort. I gazed at his frozen form, willing him to take a breath and open eyes that would match my own. I tried to force myself to wake up from this nightmare.

_I can not be the last._ The last child of Lily Potter, who was the only family I had left now.

How I longed to fall and weep, to pound my fists in the grimy dirt and mourn the loss of yet another sibling. But a hawk does not cry, especially on the battlefield, surrounded by the dead, with only guards left as the living. A hawk does not scream and pull his hair and curse the wretched snakes who are responsible for the carnage.

Among my kind, tears were regarded as a dishonour to the dead and a humiliation to the living.

_Gryffindor formality._ It kept the heart from breaking with each new loss. It kept the soldiers fighting a war no one could win. It kept me standing tall when I had nothing to live for but heartache.

I could not cry, though I wanted to.

I pressed my lips together, forcing the images from my mind. It was a struggle to keep the sobs from escaping. I lifted dry eyes to the burly guards that surrounded me.

"Take him home. He needs a proper burial." My voice faltered a bit despite my resolve.

"Potter, you should come home, as well. It is not safe to linger here."

I turned to Ron, the commander of the finest flight in the Gryffindor militia, and took in the lines around his tired brown eyes. I noticed the faint streaks of grey that had not been in his hair a year ago. The crow had been my friend for years before he joined the guard, and I began to nod acquiesce to his words.

Another cry from the woods brought me to a sudden stop. I started walking towards the sound, but Ron grabbed my arm. "Not that one, my lord."

I would normally trust his judgement implicitly, but not here on the battlefields. I had been among these dead and blood-spattered fields ever since I was twelve; I could not simply shut my eyes in the centre of this carnage and ignore when someone was begging, with what was probably the tattered remains of his sanity, for help. "And why is that, Ronald?"

The crow knew he was in trouble the moment I addressed him by his full name, but still followed me as I stepped around the butchered corpses and closer to the voice. The rest of the flight remained behind, camouflaged in their second forms—crows and ravens, mostly. They would take my brother home only when I left.

"Harry." In response, I knew Ron was serious when he slipped into the informal and used _my_ name instead of a deferential title or my surname, Potter. Very rarely did he ever call me Harry. It was an appeal to our lifelong intimacy when he used that name where it could be heard by someone else, so I stopped to listen. "That's Cadmus Snape. You don't want to go near him."

For a moment, I didn't recognize the name. With his torn, bloody clothes and face screwed up in intense pain, Cadmus Snape could have been anyone's brother, son or husband. But then the matted black hair and pale, creamy skin; along with the onyx signet ring and deep burgundy eyes that were the mark of the Snape line registered within my mind.

I did not have the energy to rage. Every emotion, every feeling of hate, was immersed in a deep set weariness that seemed to settle in my bones. I masked my face in the cloak of reserve I had learnt as a chick. I allowed no emotion past the shield that had become second nature to me.

Evidently the Slytherin prince recognised me as well, for his prayers caught in his throat, and his eyes closed warily.

I moved closer to him and heard my guards stand at attention, ready to attack if the fallen prince proved to be a threat.

It was hard to tell where the worst damage was, as his body was almost completely covered in scratches and small injuries. I saw a broken arm, a broken leg; he could heal from these.

What would I do if that was the worst? If he was hurt, but could still survive? This was the snake that had murdered my brother and led vicious attacks on my people. Would I turn a blind eye and let my guards finish him off, as all these fallen soldiers had not?

For a moment I imagined taking my dagger and slitting his throat, or thrusting it into his heart. I thought of carving him limb from limb, as my father had been. I entertained the fantasy of ending the life this monster still held while my brother lay down forever.

Despite Ron's protests, I bent down over his pale face and tried to summon the wrath I needed.

His eyes flickered open and met mine. Cadmus Snape's eyes were a dull shade of red, and filled with sadness, pain and dread. The dread bothered me the most. This man – this _boy_ – was only a few years younger than I was, and scared of death. He did not deserve this horror, did not deserve to die so young. My brother had died alone surrounded by the screams of the dying, and the echoes of swords clashing against each other. I was determined not to let it happen to another while I could prevent it.

A sent a quick prayer to Matthew, asking for forgiveness. I had loved him, but I could not murder his killer. I could not look into the eyes of a boy terrified of death and shaking from pain, and plunge a dagger into his heart. This was a life; albeit Slytherin, but still a _life._ There was a heart beating in his chest, blood pumping through his veins. Who was I to steal it?

Only as I withdrew did I see did I see the jagged wound on his stomach, where a serrated knife had been dragged across the soft flesh, one of the most painful of fatal blows. His attacker must have died before he could finish the deed.

Perhaps Matthew had held the blade. Had he lain dying alone like this afterward?

I felt a single tear trailing down my cheek, and this was enough to crack my carefully controlled mask. A sob escaped me, and then another, and like an avalanche all the months of pain and hardship became too much to keep in, and I cried. Cadmus Snape was the enemy, but here on the battlefield he was just another brother to a sister, a son to a mother, fallen on the field. I would not cry for my own brother; he would not want me to. But for this hated stranger – this murderer of my people, and for years of endless slaughter I could mourn without restraint.

I turned on Ron, my voice shaking with anger. "This is why this stupid war goes on. Because even when he's dying, you can only feel your hate," I spat, quietly, so the Slytherin prince wouldn't hear. "If I was in this man's place, I would pray for someone to kneel by my side and comfort me. And I wouldn't care if that person was Severus Snape himself."

Ron bent down awkwardly beside me. Unexpectedly, his hand rested over my hand for a moment. His eyes met mine, and I heard him sigh softly with understanding.

I turned back to the Slytherin. "I'm here now; don't worry," I said as I smoothed back the hair from Cadmus's face.

His eyes filled with tears and he muttered something that sounded like "Thank you." Then he met my eyes and said, in a strangled voice, "End it. Please."

I flinched. Even though I had been thinking the same thing moments before, and I knew it would end the pain, I did not want to end another's life.

"Harry?" Ron asked worriedly, when he saw me close my eyes in pain.

I shook my head and grabbed Cadmus's cold hand. His muscles tightened, and suddenly he was gripping my hand in a death-grip, as if I was his last anchor to earth. "Please," he repeated softly.

When I drew my knife, Ron grabbed my hand in warning.

As quietly as I could, I whispered, "It could take him hours to die like this. He'll be in constant pain."

"Let the hours pass," Ron said, though he looked troubled by the idea. "Slytherins believe in mercy killing, but not when it's the other side who does it. Not when it's the heir to the throne who kills one of their two surviving princes."

So we sat in the field, waiting out the hours in the hot, wilting sun, until Cadmus's eyes closed and his ragged breathing froze. As I had often done for Gryffindor soldiers, I sang to distract him from the pain. Songs about freedom, and about children who could sing and dance without worrying about death; carefree in the warm summer's sun.

My favourite song, though, was the one mother used to sing to me when I was a child, before I was handed over to the care of nurses and servants. Before she had somehow become a distant queen with too much formality to care for me. I would give up all the pampering and respect I had gained these past few years if I could just climb into her arms again and go back to a time when Father was here; laughing his warm, easy laugh; and my sister was sitting brushing her hair; and my brother and I would run around for hours playing "Catch".

I had heard of Slytherins and Gryffindors who had lived for two hundred years or more, but that was impossible now. In a time when both sides lost hundreds of soldiers every day, who could expect to live until tomorrow?

The only male heir left to the Slytherin throne was Severus Snape, a poisonous cobra whose vile name was never mentioned in our society. If he died… hopefully the rest of the disgusting royal house would die with him. But now that Cadmus Snape, the last brother of our greatest foe, was slain in front of me, I could not find happiness or even relief. All I could do was sing softly the old lullaby called "Hawksong" that was once sung to me long ago.

_**I wish to you sunlight, my dear one,**_

_**my dear one. And treetops for you to soar past. **_

_**I wish to you innocence, my child, my**_

_**child. I pray you don't grow up too fast.**_

_**Never know pain, my dear one, my**_

_**dear one. Nor hunger nor fear nor sorrow.**_

_**Never know war, my child, my child.**_

_**Remember your hope for tomorrow.**_

As I lay down on my soft bed at night, back in Godric's Hollow, my throat was tight with too many tears unshed, shrieks unuttered and prayers whose words I could never seem to find.

**Author's Notes:**

The song is copied from Hawksong entirely, while some sentences have been, uh, borrowed. We get to meet Severus soon!

Review, please. It helps others to read the story.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

I watched as flames consumed my brother's body, the smoke obscuring his fair features. Never again would I hear that laugh; never again would I fly with him on my tail. The flames danced ever higher; their light creating eerie shadows on my mother's face, emphasizing the dark bags under her eyes and the waxy quality of her skin. She had been beautiful once, but you could hardly see that now. Instead the eye was drawn to the rigid way she held herself and the haughty expression of her face. She had not moved a muscle since the burning, opting to look somewhere behind the pyre – at Godric's Hollow, perhaps.

Ron and his flight had brought the body here, flying it from the bloody battlefields. They had built the pyre and sung the appropriate songs. But now, as the flames were reduced to smouldering flinders and all that was left of the body was ash, only my mother and I remained – the last of the royal family.

"Potter, you're forbidden from returning to the fields," she said stiffly, concealing the sorrow in her voice. "I should never have let you wander them in the first place. You will inherit the throne in a few weeks, and the last thing our people need is a delusional monarch."

I had been preparing to take the throne since birth, but rarely, if ever, did my mother approve of my methods. I saw her pale, disapproving face every time I stepped out of Godric's Hollow, or walked the blood-spattered fields. I knew that it was dangerous, but how was I to rule my people from the safety of the castle? How was I to gain their trust, if I did not know them?

"Yes, Mother."

Now was not the time to argue over matters as small as these. Now was the time for memories – memories of my brother, and memories of a time when I had hope.

"Come," she commanded. "There is nothing left for us here."

It was as if a black thorn had been placed in my heart. My throat choked with anger, I struggled to keep my voice to a civil tone. "How can you say that? He was your _son_—"

"Why do I say that?" My mother's voice was as sharp as I had ever heard it, and filled with icy rage. "I say it because it is true. There is nothing left here but bones and ashes."

I wanted to storm and rage; shake her frail body and ask why she was so cruel, so heartless. Evidently she saw it in my face, because she straightened up to her full height and her eyes hardened. "I have no need to explain myself to you," she stated coldly. "But I will say this – do not presume to think that I do not mourn each loss. Never think that I do not grieve for my husband, my children, and my people. These Slytherins," she spat the word, as if it were something foul in her mouth, "have taken from me a mother, a father, a daughter, and now a son; you think I do not suffer?"

Without waiting for my reply, she answered her own question. "Of course I suffer! But unlike you, I do not show it on my face. I know my duty. I must give hope to those in need of it, and I cannot do this if I am drowning in grief." Her voice had softened, until it was almost a whisper. "There would be no energy left for living if I grieved too deeply for each loss, although each funeral is harder to turn from than the last." She lifted her eyes to mine, and I could see the emotion in her eyes. "But I cannot cry, because there is _no time for tears_."

And she shifted form and spread her wings, taking to the skies. When she was nearly out of sight, she let out a shriek. Fury, pain, fear; they dissolved into the sky as she pushed past them with every smack of her wings against the air.

* * *

The sun had set when I returned home. Godric's Hollow was a heavily fortified tower that housed the royal family, the highest-ranking soldiers and the most well-known artisans, merchants and speakers of the Gryffindor court.

I landed on the first floor, fifteen feet above the training grounds and market square. I watched the last of the merchants pack up their stalls and head for home, the sound of their chatter audible from even here. It hurt to watch them so carefree, but I knew it was only a front. All of them had lost family and friends in this war, and dreaded returning home to empty houses, with beds unslept in and chairs gathering dust.

Markets lasted from first light to nightfall. Merchants, story-tellers and commoners gathered on the ground floor, while the Shehen Shaah and his heirs would travel among them listening for complaints. It was also a place for gossip and stories. The people who were not directly involved with the war came here to learn all the gory details about every battle fought, and every battle lost.

Tonight, as ever, friends exchanged stories about the Slytherins. I had seen many a Slytherin soldier die on the field, and Cadmus Snape was still fresh in my mind as I listened to the appalling gossip that passed for truth in our society. How Slytherin warriors were silent and deadly in battle, how their poison could kill in a single moment, how their eyes could slay you if you looked into them, how they plucked children from their beds…

I tried not to listen.

"Potter?"

I turned to face the woman approaching me. I recognised her as a playmate from when we were both children. Hermione Granger was a sophisticated, intelligent young woman with fabulous dreams that I wish I could make come true. Unfortunately, the war had dulled any chance she had to shine, changing her from a budding scholar to a seamstress apprentice. Her family needed the money, and although the Shehen Shaah usually paid scholars for their research, my mother had removed that particular stipend, needing it to buy various weapons and poisons.

I smiled at her warmly; glad to see her after five years absence. "Hermione, it's good to see you. How is your apprenticeship going?"

She seemed pleased I had asked her. "Oh – it's fine, actually." Her voice turned wistful. "Although I do wonder sometimes what it would have been like to become a scholar. All those books…" She shook her head, as if to rid herself of such thoughts. "But, I am learning new things all the time, so it doesn't matter as much."

"What brings you to Godric's Hollow?"

"I'm finally selling my work at the markets," she said, rolling her eyes. "Minerva wouldn't let me do it 'before I was ready', whatever that means." Her smile turned to a sombre expression. "I know it's not my place to say this, but I like to think we're friends?"

"Of course," I nodded.

"I heard what happened yesterday, with Cadmus Snape. It gave me hope that the heir to the throne, who has most reason to hate Slytherins, could put aside the past and comfort a dying man. If you can do that, then perhaps anything is possible…"

I felt flattered and embarrassed at the same time. I smile tiredly at her. "Thank you, Hermione. Fly with grace."

"May your wings never falter." She returned the greeting, and headed off towards the markets.

I felt awkward in the throng of people who suddenly assailed me to express grief over my brother's death. As always, Ron knew when I needed to escape. He moved to my side, a deterrent for anyone else wishing to convey their condolences. We were silent as we shifted, our wings carrying us to the higher levels of Godric's Hollow. He stopped briefly by my side as we reached the floor where he was quartered, his eyes asking me a question I was not yet prepared to answer. I heard him sigh as he said, "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight, Ron." My voice was quiet, subdued.

I continued on to the sixth floor. I passed my brother's rooms and whispered a final goodbye before I entered my own.

**Author's Notes:**

Shehen Shaah is translated to 'king' or 'emperor' in Gryffindor society.

PLEASE REVIEW!!!!


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_I ran across the hall quickly, giggling as I watched the falcon boy follow me. I put my fingers over my mouth, signalling for him to remain quiet. There was a maid in the next hall. _

"_Shush," I whispered. "Cho's in there."_

_He looked around hurriedly, eyes darting in every direction. Slowly, with the easy confidence that came with his race, he raised a hand and said, "Not a problem." I watched in amazement as his hand began to ripple; a small curlicue that began twisting faster and faster in the middle of his hand, creating a undulating current that spread downwards. Amazingly, his skin started to gain in transparency, until soon there was nothing left at all. His hand was gone. _

"_How did you do that?" I asked in childlike wonder. _

_He smiled. "That's nothing," he said confidently. Then a great swelling began in his arms, moving through his body. I watched the heaving of the skin, as if there were currents surging through it. And, sure enough, his body disappeared. _

_Whirling around, I tried vainly to find any trace of him._

_I jumped as I felt a hand cover my mouth. But then I saw my own hands, and nearly laughed with joy. They were invisible! _

"_Now we can pass," he whispered into my ear, his breath tickling the hairs of my neck._

_Together we sneaked past the maid, Cho, and continued on through the lofty halls. "This game is fun," I said. "What's it called?"_

"_Hide and Seek," he murmured. "We should play 'Catch' next."_

"_Yes, please," I replied eagerly. "And then I have this great idea—"_

"_Shhh…" he said in a low tone. "Look over there…"_

_He pointed towards a man – one of my tutors – having a hushed conversation with my mother. Despite this secrecy, I picked up a few words._

"_Ronald…disappeared…battlefields…searching for his father?"_

_My heart thudded painfully. Ron wasn't supposed to go to the fields, it was too dangerous! Mother had said so. I turned on the falcon, not bothering to keep my voice down. _

"_We have to go to the battlefields! Ron is in trouble!"_

"_The battlefields?" His voice was faintly incredulous. "You have got to be kidding me. We'll be cut down like sparrows!"_

_I was confused. Didn't he want to help Ron? "But Ron is in trouble," I explained._

"_So you have said," he replied. "But I don't see why that means we have to go after him."_

_Anger began to cloud my vision. "Coward," I spat. _

_I turned and ran towards the flight landing, ignoring his calls, not noticing that the second I left his grasp I became visible once more._

_I shifted as soon as I reached the landing. Flying over the charred fields, I searched for my friend. The smell of death was sickening. I had known of war, but had never seen the carnage up close, never smelled the blood… And in the middle of it all sat Ron, huddled protectively over his father's body, crying. _

_I landed at his side._

_It was then that I saw the serpent, coming up behind Ron. _

"_Watch out!" I screamed, my heart beating a thousand times a minute. _

_Ron looked up, his shocked eyes widening with fear. He had no chance. The Slytherin's fangs slid into his neck, and I saw his body contract painfully._

_Suddenly I felt something tugging at me. I shrieked, only to find it to be a harmless wool blanket – _

I realised I was dreaming, reliving memories that had happened years ago. Despite knowing this, I could not force myself to wake up. Lucid dreams had been a curse of mine for years.

– I _walked through the door to my khaavand, the man who had been promised as my protector when we were both barely more than infants. Remus Lupin had frightened me a little when I was a boy; he seemed so cold and strong. The blood I saw in my nightmares, he saw every day as a soldier. Yet I had learned to love him – _

I tossed and turned in my sleep, hoping without hope that I would wake. Please…

– _just in time to lose him, like I had lost so many others. He lay on the ground, frothing at the mouth. Poisoned… poisoned by a Gryffindor traitor._

"_Harry…" he whispered._

Wake up, wake up…

_I found myself face to face with the garnet eyes of Severus Snape, the creature whose kind was responsible for every loss we suffered, every tear I held inside. My breath halted in my lungs; my blood turned to ice. I felt my throat constrict as I tried to scream – _

"Harry?" I opened my eyes to find Ron shaking my shoulders furiously.

I looked at him. Ron had been such a playful child when we were young, always full of boisterous laughter and up to some mischief. His father's death had changed him, perhaps for the worse. After that terrifying day on the battlefields, where he had saved my life, he had been forced to grow up too quickly. At the age of thirteen he had enlisted in the Gryffindor army, where he had made remarkable progress. At the tender age of fifteen he had been promoted to member of the Royal Flight, the Shehen Shaah's personal guard. He had been captain for three years now.

Misinterpreting my look, Ron stepped back quickly, snatching his hands away as if they had been burned. He averted his eyes, looking at the floor. "You wouldn't wake up," he mumbled.

It was obvious that he had just woken. His thick red hair was tied back messily, and his clothes, normally so clean and tidy, were hastily put on. Also, water droplets dripped down his face and hair – he had bathed before coming to meet me. I found myself following the path of a droplet as it made its way down his cheek and onto his shirt, taking in the smooth skin and taut muscle; the way his clothes clung to his body, outlining his sleek form.

Realising I was staring, I blushed.

The awkward moment barely lasted a second; evidently Ron had come for a reason much more important than simple attraction.

Clearing his throat, he said, "The queen requests your presence in the ground-floor reception hall. She says to come as soon as you are ready."

I blinked. My mother would not summon me for trivial matters.

"I'll leave you to change, my lord."

I stepped outside to find squadrons of guards marching towards the flight landing, moving in neat, orderly lines. Shocked at such precautions, I turned towards Ron, only to see a dozen soldiers standing next to him. I had never seen such protection inside Godric's Hollow. Outside, perhaps, but in our own home…

"What has happened?" I demanded. Terror suddenly froze my heart. "Is mother injured?"

Ron shook his head. "No, she's fine."

"Then what is…this?" I said, waving my arms towards the soldiers.

Seamus, another guard in the Royal Flight, answered me. "We seem to have a visitor, which is why your mother summoned you in the first place."

We made our way to the flight landing quickly and quietly. I had become accustomed to having one or two guards following me, but this many unnerved me. What kind of a visitor could we have, if this much protection was needed?

"Who _is_ this visitor?" I enquired lightly. "Severus Snape himself?"

No one smiled.

My mother turned to greet me as we entered the courtyard. Her eyes were sharp; coldness seemed to have descended into them. Far behind her, I noticed our guest, sitting on the ground, surrounded by four guards. How dangerous could this person be?

My question was answered when I recognised who it was. Black hair, fair skin… As I got closer I saw the Slytherin emblem sown onto her silky low-cut black dress – a green snake; cobra, to be precise. She wore an onyx signet ring on her left hand, identifying her as a member of the royal family. I must have gasped, because she looked up at that moment. Suddenly I found myself confronted with her red eyes, the colour reminiscent of pure polished rubies; lit up as if a fire was burning in them. I did not doubt this – legend said that the cobra family had descended from hell. I looked away quickly, a shudder twisting its way up my spine.

"I come in peace," she assured, as if her word meant anything to me. That traitorous, lying piece of scum…

"This is Avella Snape, sister of Severus Snape," said my mother. "Avella, this is Harry Potter, my son and heir to the throne."

I opened my mouth to say something appropriately welcoming, but all I could think of was _"How dare you come here, you little snake?"_ Fortunately, she spoke before I did.

"Good morning, Harry," she said in a smooth, musical voice. "I'm so glad to meet you." I very much doubted that, but at least she had been civil.

"I have always wanted to see a member of the Slytherin royal family," I stated slowly. This was so I could stick a knife in one of them, but I didn't tell her that.

Her eyes glinted with anger – I could tell she had caught the hidden meaning in my words. But she answered softly. "I come for peace,"

I choked back a laugh; a Slytherin, wanting peace? The notion was absurd. It seemed another soldier hadn't been able to hide his scorn, as I heard a snort from behind me.

Avella directed a frosty glare at the man. "I have lost all my family in this war," she said icily. "A father. Two uncles. A sister and a niece at the same time, when some Gryffindor soldier carved her baby out." She raised pleading eyes to me. "Only Severus and my mother remain. I live in constant fear that they, too, will be taken from me. My mother is a good woman, but she is only queen. Our people need their king, and Severus is the only heir."

"I don't believe you," I said coldly. "Your kind are not known for their reliability."

I could see she was close to standing in anger and denial. "Cadmus Snape," she began in a choked voice, "was killed two nights ago on the battlefield. He was only seventeen, and now he is nothing. I came here without weapons, hoping that someone might listen to reason. Severus wanted to come himself, but mother said you would kill him straight away. Was she right?" she asked sharply. "Was she right; don't you want peace?"

I did not answer. I was too busy trying to wrap my mind around the thought that Severus Snape would willingly step into Godric's Hollow for anything other than slaughter. He was nearly king; it was hard to imagine the leader of the Slytherins acting like he actually cared about ending the war.

Every Gryffindor knew about the exploits of Severus Snape. He was said to be fearless in battle; slicing a neck was as simple to him as slicing bread. He moved with terrifying grace and speed; he fought beside his people and had never been wounded. An enemy would find themselves face to face with him and turn the blade on themselves.

"We want peace," said my mother. "But how are we to trust you?"

"Severus suggested we meet," she began carefully. "He wants to call a truce."

"And where, exactly, would we meet without fear of being stabbed in the back?"

"Before Albus Dumbledore," she said immediately. "I doubt the leader of the Phoenix would allow any blood to be spilled on his lands."

I mulled this over. It was true, what she said. Meeting before the Phoenix would be safe, as they were situated in neutral lands, and had no part in our war. Besides, they were far more powerful than all our forces – Slytherin and Gryffindor – combined.

Mother was obviously surprised. "The Phoenix?"

Avella nodded. "Yes. Severus has already requested a meeting. They have agreed. Now all that remains is your confirmation."

"And what time is this meeting?" my mother asked suspiciously.

"That is up to you to decide," Avella smiled.

"Potter, what do you think?"

I was surprised that Mother was letting me decide. "I think…" I struggled for words. "I think that this war has gone on long enough. If there is a chance for peace, then we should take it."

Avella let out a beaming smile. "Excellent! Now, Lily, when will the meeting take place?"

Mother conferred with Ron before coming to a decision. "In a fortnight, on the first showing of the moon. It will take us that long to organise our people."

If the Slytherins left the instant Avella returned to the palace and were willing to ride their horses to exhaustion, they would meet the deadline. There would be no time to plan a sneak attack.

Avella curtsied, her face showing no annoyance at the rush my mother was pressing her people with. "Thank you, Lily, Harry. My best wishes with you both until then."

_Yes. Until then._


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

I breathed the fresh air deeply, savouring the sweet taste. I was glad for the respite from flying; already my wings were sagging, my bones weary. I sighed as I looked out at the endless expanse of dusty brown before me: the desert was hot, dry and barren, something I had quickly grown tired of.

"How long?" I asked wearily, my voice low.

"We're roughly three hours away from the Phoenix lands, my lord," Ron answered, his face fixed on some distant point in the horizon. "We should be there by nightfall."

I sighed, my heart dropping at the prospect of yet another long flight. I heard the disgruntled mutters of the guards behind me and knew I was not alone in my disappointment.

We'd been in the air for two days now, flying with minimal rest and food. Our guide, a young goshawk sent by the Phoenix, set a hard pace and had no sympathy for anyone who lagged behind. My mother greatly approved of him, though I secretly harboured dreams of knocking him off his wings and out of the air.

"How are you faring?" Ron asked quietly, once we were up in the clouds and out of the earshot of the other guards.

"I'm fine," I answered. "We'll be there soon. The Phoenix will—"

I heard the sound of a body behind me and widened the gap between Ron and I. My mother flew in between us with a single beat of her wings. Her eyes were cold as she stared at Ron. "I trust your duties are not being neglected?" she asked softly. "Or are you simply here for a chat?"

Ron coloured ever so slightly and veered sharply to the left. "No, my lady," he said quickly. "I was just—"

"Go keep lookout," my mother said in a softer tone. "Seamus is near dropping with exhaustion."

Ron obeyed, his form sliding out of view as he flew to the front of the formation. I heard the sharp screech of the goshawk as he berated Ron for not having come sooner.

My mother spoke to me quietly, her voice a mere whisper on the wind. I had to strain my ears to catch what she was saying.

"You will be ruler soon," she said, her eyes fixed on me. "I hope you'll make the right decisions for our people."

"You and Father have trained me since birth," I answered slowly. "I've always known I shall rule, but despite this I'm not sure I'm ready."

My mother's retort was sharp and cutting. "Enough," she snapped. "There is no time for talk such as this. We're nearly at the palace of the Phoenix—_you_ will be addressed as ruler there, not me." Her voice softer, she continued. "Harry, my time is coming to an end. Your father always had faith in you, faith in your capability to rule wisely. Though your decisions in the past have caused me doubt, I will not abandon his words now." She was louder now, speaking with determination, her eyes set in front of her. "You take the throne on your birthday," she said. "Be ready."

With these parting words she flew to the guards behind her, presumably to question them yet again.

I was alone for the rest of the journey, caught up in my thoughts. Why had she come to me like that? What had she intended to achieve? My musings were interrupted as Ron's commanding voice filled the air.

"We're here," he said loudly. "We're in Phoenix lands."

I looked around me for the first time, eager to catch a glimpse of the fabled green forest that marked the abode of Albus Dumbledore. I was not disappointed.

In place of the desert was a much more interesting view: tall, soaring trees; the brilliant hues of millions of different varieties of flowers, as well as the towering structures that housed the Phoenix, built among the trees as a sort of perch.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, my heart beating faster. I thought I caught sight of a flash of gleaming gold: surely that was a phoenix, flying to inform his king of our arrival? He was probably checking to make sure there were only five of us, I thought more rationally. The Phoenix had been adamant about that point: only five people. We had been assured the Slytherins would bring the same.

"Be careful," Ron muttered. "They're waiting for us."

He was right. As we descended I noticed the men standing below us; their loose clothing and the way they stood, casually, almost as if they weren't soldiers, ready to shoot us at any sign of alarm. I took a deep breath as I landed and shifted into human form: this was it, the moment we had all been waiting for.

"Welcome," a woman said, her voice lilting and musical. "The King is waiting in the reception hall. The others are already here."

We were hustled through the tall grasses to a large tree that loomed high above us, seemingly reaching into the sky. The phoenix guards shifted into their golden forms: I watched, transfixed, as their limbs became bright, fiery wings. With a smile I shifted into my hawk's form—it may not have been as magnificent as that of the phoenix, but it was as natural to me as breathing air.

We flew to the uppermost branches of the tree, where a great doorway had been hollowed out, leading into the grand structure that was the heart of the Phoenix territories.

The inside was more dimly lit than outside, but carefully cut windows shrouded with pale silk let in enough light to show the brilliance of the palace. The floor was pure white, and the walls were covered in beautiful tapestries that illustrated the rich history of the Phoenix. Brightly coloured pillows, a stark contrast to the white, formed comfortable seats on the floor: several were taken by servants and guards. On the slightly raised central podium sat the King, Albus Dumbledore, dressed in fine robes of gold. To his left was a woman, presumably his mate.

But all of those individuals quickly lost my interest. Within seconds my gaze was locked on another group that was seated at the opposite end of the hall.

Avella Snape smiled as my eyes landed on her, but already I had moved on. Another woman, wearing a heavy gown of velvet, sat nearby. Her hair was let loose, onyx strands flowing freely around her face. As she turned to look at me I avoided her startling sapphire eyes. Eileen Snape, Queen of the Slytherin. She was a python and did not have a cobra's power, but it was never a good idea to meet a serpent's gaze.

There were three others who sat with them, two male and one female. The first man was lithely built: his agile body looked strong and quick. He had pale blond hair that was cut short, and his eyes were a crystal blue. The woman was lean, with long, silky red hair that was tied into a loose bun. Both of them had the casual poise and alert eyes of guards.

Next to them was a man who could only be the last surviving prince of the Slytherin.

Severus Snape lounged on a cushion, his back resting against the wall, hands placed casually on his hips. The flickering shimmer of his black slacks—the smooth, cold scales—led me to wonder which of his kind he had skinned. His shoulders were broad, and in the position in which he sat the material of his shirt was pulled taught across his chest. On his hand he wore the trademark onyx ring. He raised his gaze to mine and for a second I was staring at twin pools of fire, bright with an intensity that held me still. Time stopped for what seemed like an eternity. The terrifying spell was broken as he looked away, only to flicker his eyes up and down my body in a quick scan that brought heat to my face. For the first time I was aware that I was hot and tired, that my clothes were dusty and no longer gleaming.

Ron stepped in front of me, glaring at the Slytherin prince, blocking him from my view. He escorted me to a seat.

_We're here to try and make peace with _that? I thought frantically, my heart still pounding. My face was pale, my hands were sweaty, and the feathers at the base of my neck were raised. If he could affect me that strongly from across the room, how would I ever dare to approach him civilly?

Albus Dumbledore stood up, his hands raised. Instantly there was quiet.

"This isn't going to be easy," he said, loudly enough that my attention was dragged away from the prince and to the leader of the Phoenix. "But as long as you are both willing to try, there is always a chance for peace."

I saw my mother settle into her seat more comfortably, her eyes locked on the King of the Phoenix. She, too, was aware of her ruffled clothing: no doubt she was berating herself for not changing as soon as we had gotten here.

The king spoke to the Slytherins first. "Eileen, you are queen?"

Eileen Snape nodded, giving a quick glance to her son. After a moment's hesitation, she raised her head and answered, "I am, but my King is dead. Severus has not yet taken the throne, but you should address him as our leader."

"Severus, haven't you taken a mate?"

Severus Snape raised blazing eyes to the phoenix. "Taking a mate in the middle of this war would mean handing a death sentence to a woman in return for her love." His eyes flickered to our group briefly, before moving to the king once again. "I have learned through experience that not even a woman with child is safe from attack, not when she's carrying a cobra's blood."

Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath and turned to us. "And you, Lily?"

My mother answered slowly and hesitantly. "I am the current queen, but my king is also dead." She darted a quick glance at Eileen Snape, trying to gauge her reaction. "You should address Harry as our leader. He will be Shehen Shaah soon."

"How soon?" the phoenix asked tiredly, and I caught the pitying glance he gave my mother.

My mother blinked, before answering honestly, "My son has no khaavand—the one he was raised with died in the war. Since he is now old enough, I want him to choose his own. He will be appointed Shehen Shaah on his next birthday."

Albus Dumbledore nodded, before turning to face us all. "Severus, Harry—both of you want peace, and both of your families are willing to follow you. Why do you need my help?"

Severus Snape answered first. "Even if I ceased all warfare, or called a ban on fighting, my people would rather attack than be taken by surprise. Among my own guards," he looked to his red-headed companion, "there is strong doubt about the sincerity of the Gryffindors. There is speculation on why I would wish to call a truce in the first place."

When the phoenix looked to me, I could only agree with the snake. "My mother and I have barely been able to control our soldiers these past few weeks. They know the war is pointless, but cannot bring themselves to trust the enemy they have hated for so long."

Albus Dumbledore turned to his female companion and the two conferred for a few minutes. He then stood up, his voice strong and commanding as he spoke, "You say there is doubt on both sides. That your people cannot accept the other side's sincerity."

I nodded, and saw Severus doing the same.

"To bridge a gap between two nations that have been warring so long, we must first start at the inside, at the heart of the problem."

I looked to Mother to see if she had understood the cryptic statement more than I. Her brows were furrowed as if she knew where this was going but did not like it.

"Severus, Harry—your people will only follow your lead if you show them the way. They will only begin to accept peace if you show them that you are willing to sacrifice for this war."

The King of the Phoenix turned to stare at me and Severus in turn. "To start the process of healing, you must start at the inside," he repeated. "My suggestion is this: bond the two royal families together, bring them closer than they have ever been." He took a deep breath and then continued. "Severus, take Harry as your partner. Harry, take Severus as your khaavand. Only then will the two nations be one. Only then will the process of peace begin."

There was instant pandemonium as both groups, Gryffindor and Slytherin, realised the full meaning of his words. Ron stood up, shouting furiously, as did the red-headed guard at Severus' side. My mother voiced her fury at such an idea loudly, though Severus' voice rose above the others, saying, "I think that's a ridiculous idea. Completely absurd." My own protests were frozen in my throat.

Albus Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. His voice was soft as he spoke, "If you, the leaders of your people, are unwilling to make amends, how can you expect your warriors to do so?" More loudly, he addressed the hall, "Stay here for the night. Think on my words—"

"Wait, please—" Finally I had found my voice.

"Dismissed, all of you," the king commanded. "You may return tomorrow at sunset if you are willing to discuss this further."

Just like that we were barred from the hall, only able to watch with amazed eyes as the phoenix left the room escorted by several guards. We were rushed into the rooms in which we would be staying without a single word.

A young woman brought me food, a platter of fruit and cheese, as well as a freshly baked loaf of bread. I was thankful that at least they hadn't served meat, as like most of my kind I refused to eat it.

Ron stopped by once and I had to reassure him that I would be fine. He stopped at the doorway, his body stiff with tension and stress. "I'm sorry I lost my temper at the hall today," he said. "But the thought of that snake getting anywhere near you…" He trailed off and looked away. "I should go. Goodbye, my lord."

"Good night, Ron," I answered, sighing.

Then he was gone and I was alone, left with only the oppressive silence and the flickering light of the candle to keep me company. I lay back on my soft bed and traced the lines on the wall, thinking.

_If you, the leaders of your people, are unwilling to make amends, how do you expect your warriors to do so? _

How could the phoenix expect us to suddenly turn from enemies to a pair bond? He didn't understand. He didn't know the intense hatred our kind shared. He didn't dream of fallen brothers and sisters and friends at night, nor did he carry memories of a family broken.

But still, there was a reason why the Phoenix were considered wise, a reason why people had sought them when war struck their nation. Never before had anyone managed to get leaders of both side of this war together. If that was possible…maybe Hermione was right—maybe _anything_ was possible.

**Author's Note: **

_I am so, so, so, so, so, so SO sorry about the lack of updates for the past, what—eight months? _


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

I crouched under the blankets with my eyes closed, teeth clamped tightly together, trying to control the shivers that were racking my body. The room was cast in darkness and every shadow loomed high above my head, large and threatening. Every sound was amplified, from my rapid heartbeat to my breathing, which was quick and shallow. The chilling _drip drip_ of a leaky tap from the next room added to my growing sense of paranoia.

There was someone else in the room.

I knew it.

With shaking hands I reached for the lamp placed on the bedside table, lighting a match after several failed attempts. By this time my heart was pumping furiously and I cursed my inability to remain calm in such a situation.

"I must say, Harry, whoever trained you was woefully inadequate."

My breath froze in my lungs as I looked up.

I saw his red eyes first.

Severus Snape was still dressed in the black snakeskin pants; though now I was closer I could see ripples of green running through them. His shirt was made of a loose fabric I identified as silk, and with a sinking heart I recognised the onyx dagger strung across his waist as being a Snape family heirloom: rumour in the Gryffindor courts was that it was poison tipped.

Instinct forced me to my feet. My eyes were now a honey-golden; pupils dilated to catch every trick of light. The feathers at the base of my neck had risen. My arms were tingling and my breath came raggedly: clearly the survival instinct in me had been awoken.

"What do you want?" I asked, my breath catching slightly in my throat. I fought back the urge to call for my guards. Severus Snape wouldn't be stupid enough to kill me in Phoenix lands.

Would he?

"Sit down, Potter," he said as he collapsed gracefully onto one of the many pillows that lined the floor. "I'm not going to rape you or kill you, whatever it is you're thinking." His voice was smooth and velvety: goose-bumps rose on my arms at the sound of it.

I folded my knees under me as I sat down on the bed, trying to keep my composure. I was disgusted with myself for being so terrified, but my body couldn't stand the presence of a snake so near. "Why are you here?" I asked, and despite my best efforts my voice was shaky.

"To talk," he said simply. "We were removed from the Phoenix halls quite abruptly, and I daresay the same will happen tomorrow unless we have some prior discussion."

"Get out," I commanded, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Now."

His eyes hardened, his face smoothing into a mask. "Do you know there are ten guards outside your door?" His voice was soft, barely a whisper.

"What?"

"The Phoenix added their guards to yours. They're all incompetent, really, or else I wouldn't be here."

"Ron is not incompetent."

His mouth curved into a dark smile. "Really?"

"Get out," I repeated, shaking. "Please."

He stood up, every movement languid and relaxed; I had to stop myself from asking him to hurry. He leaned against the wall, arms folded against his chest, looking me up and down. He seemed more threatening in this position.

"You must be cold," he commented offhandedly.

I was silent. What was he talking about?

"Without that lambskin jacket you prefer," he explained, a dark glint in his eyes. "You know, the one you usually wear over your blue silken nightshirt?"

My heart skipped a beat. How did he know…?

"You must be missing your soft, warm blanket, embroidered beautifully in gold thread," he continued, ignoring my shocked gasp. "And I mustn't forget the oaken chest it sits on, at the foot of your bed. Or the white drapes that hang on your windows or the pictures that adorn the walls—you know the ones I'm talking about, right? The ones of your dear departed family members?"

"How…how do you—"

"And, of course, the stunning pillow placed on your bed. Made of Chinese silk, it must be very comfortable. And surely you're missing your stuffed hawk? The one your father gave you when you were five years old—the one that has those startling blue eyes?"

My breath was coming quickly. I could hear my heartbeat as a low buzzing in my ears.

"_Remember your hope for tomorrow_," he quoted softly. "That's what you've written on your wall, isn't it? In red paint, so reminiscent of blood."

How did he know? How could he _possibly_ know all this?

Seeing the question so clearly written on my face, he smiled. There was a sad quality to that smile; it was dangerous, haunting. "I've been there," he explained, sitting down. "To Godric's Hollow. It isn't the easiest place to break into, but I have a talent for such things." Pausing at the terrified look on my face, he took a breath. "I've been there twice, actually."

"What?" I spoke in barely more than a whisper, too shocked to realise that calling my guards at this point would be a good idea.

"I was sixteen the first time," he said. "My brother had just been killed by Gryffindor soldiers. Someone told me you had turned six. For your birthday, my brother died." His voice was cold. "I wanted revenge. I decided I would kill you."

What if he had succeeded?

"I broke into Godric's Hollow. It was a bit tricky getting to the first floor, but I managed. I found your room. You don't even keep a lock on your door, Harry."

_I will now._

He was quiet; his eyes were closed, as if remembering the moment. "You were lying on your bed, curled up. So young, so innocent… I couldn't bring myself to kill you."

"What about the second time?" My voice was a croak. I desperately wanted a glass of water.

"I was twenty-six," he said. "You were sixteen. My sister had just been killed: a Gryffindor soldier carved her baby out with her. I was furious. This time, I thought, you weren't a child anymore. I could kill you."

He sighed softly. "I got into your room again. But…"

"What?" I asked harshly, suddenly angry. "What prevented you from drawing your knife and slitting my throat?"

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

The question left me open mouthed. I sat there, gaping, as the Slytherin continued.

"You were dressed in a pale shirt of silk and soft lambskin pants. I assumed you had fallen asleep without getting changed. Your hair was falling over your eyes. Your skin looked like snow." His voice was soft. "I couldn't kill you. I reached out to touch your cheek… you drew away from me. I remembered where I was. I left."

I looked away from him, shivering. My voice shook as I spoke. "What are you trying to prove?"

He sighed, and his face lost the hard quality it had gained in the past few minutes. For the first time I saw how easily a snake's mood could change. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wasn't trying to scare you, if that's what you think. I was just… I've worked too hard to be thrown out so easily. I've come too far, done so much, and to be told that it's all for nothing…" His voice petered out. "How much are you willing to give for this war?"

I sat still for a few seconds. The discussion of the past few minutes was running through my head. "Anything," I answered truthfully.

There was an awkward silence. The Slytherin didn't seem to notice it.

"What do you think of Dumbledore's suggestion?" he asked abruptly, catching me off guard. I sat there for some time, trying to think of something to say.

"It's ridiculous," I finally ground out, and this time my voice was cold, frosty: I had slipped back onto the regal bearing of a Shehen Shaah.

"It is," he agreed smoothly. "But what do _you_ think? I'm asking you, not your mother or your guards."

What _did_ I think?

"My mother," I began, "thinks the idea is preposterous and impossible. I agree with her."

He shook his head impatiently. "That's your mother speaking again. I want to know what _you_ think."

"Well, you made _your_ opinion of the idea quite clear," I said, fear turning to anger. "_I think that's a ridiculous idea. Completely absurd_. Isn't that what you said?"

"Yes," he agreed. "But sometimes the best ideas are absurd. I know that."

"You mean you think it's actually possible?" I asked, scornfully. "A hawk and a snake—a Gryffindor and a Slytherin."

"I think it's worth considering," he said coldly. "This war has gone on long enough. My sister, Avella, is with child. She was terrified when she told me. It should be an occasion for joy, not terror." He paused and seemed to gather his thoughts. "Look. I'm not asking for anything other than a political marriage, maybe friendship."

"What makes you think—"

"Harry," he interrupted. "Listen. If it was just your body, I would agree instantly. You're beautiful. But it _isn't _just your body—your mind comes as part of the package. And that's what makes this so difficult."

I flushed. "There is absolutely no way—"

He sighed. "Do you want this war to go on forever?"

"What would I stand to gain if I married you? No love, no friendship, no sex—" I choked off my words, shocked and ashamed that I had even begun to utter them. What was happening to me? My face was a brilliant red.

He was sitting still, almost frozen. "So you think there could never be anything…physical…between us?"

The Slytherin prince leaned back in his chair, slowly, and his eyes met mine. I froze at the deep garnet, every thought rushing through my head slowing down, until I found it impossible to move. I was acutely aware of his body, so close to mine, and the way he was staring at me, as if I was the only thing in the world.

With a shiver I realised he was standing up and moving towards me on the bed. My body shuddered with fear: everything was telling me to run, to call for my guards. Yet still I sat there, in a trance, unable to do the vey thing that might save my life.

He reached me. His mouth curved into a small smile. He reached out with his hand, touching my cheek. The touch was cold, ghost-like. I gasped. He bent down until his face was level with mine.

"No physical attraction?" He was smirking.

I broke out of the trance, my entire body shuddering with the effort. "Get away from me," I gasped.

He spilled onto his knees, the movement bringing him even closer to me. I jerked away, terrified. My skin was hypersensitive. My lips were dry. My heart was beating faster than I had ever heard it.

"Will you marry me?"

I knew he was joking, I knew it was meant to be funny… I couldn't contain a choked whimper.

"For God's sake, Potter, I'm not going to hurt you!" His voice was a furious whisper.

"How do I know that?" My voice seemed much too loud.

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already. My fangs would be in your throat, poisoning your blood. Your Gryffindor heart would stop beating in seconds. You'd fall to the ground, lifeless."

I shuddered. "Don't threaten me," I said as levelly as I could.

He glared. Suddenly his arms were around my waist, his lips hovering mere centimetres over mine. I gasped as I felt his strong, muscled form against my own. I was caught, terrified, in the snake's embrace.

"Don't order me around," he growled, before kissing me.

I shuddered against his body, every sense in me revolting at the touch. He let me drop back to the bed a second later. I let out a yell, and my guards were suddenly in the room.

The Slytherin was on the other side of the room immediately. He looked calm and composed, nothing like the furious man I had seen earlier. I was standing, too, doing my best to look regal and unaffected.

"What's going on here?" Ron growled, his eyes immediately fixed on Snape. His hand was at his sword.

"I was just talking to Harry," the Slytherin prince said smoothly. Despite his cool tone, I could see the tension in his body—he was alert and ready to kill. His movements may have been slow and unassuming, but I knew they hid a lethal body: everyone knew that on the battlefield snakes looked slow, so that you thought you had an eternity to move, but when they struck they did so with deadly force and accuracy.

I took a breath and smiled, trying to look calm and poised. "He's right, Ron."

Ron didn't look at all convinced.

"It's getting late, Severus," I said. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion tomorrow."

"I agree," he said, before making his way out of the room. He had to shoulder Ron before he left, though. Ron glared furiously at the snake, and apparently Snape took this as a challenge. He smiled coldly and had his hands wrapped around my waist once more. He kissed me before I could cry out. Letting go quickly, ignoring Ron's shocked face, he left the room.

"What was that?" Ron shouted at me, face red.

I glared. "He was perfectly polite, Ronald."

Ron's face showed that what he had just witnessed was anything but perfectly polite. Still, I refused to explain myself to my guard.

"I'm tired, Ron," I said. "Let me sleep."

"Sleep? That was the last thing on _his_ mind—"

"Ronald Weasley." My voice was steely. "I have asked for sleep: I shall get it. Now leave this room."

Ron's face contorted in surprise—I could see that leaving the room was the last thing he wanted to do. But he was my guard.

"Yes, my lord," he finally said, before turning around and signalling for his men to leave.

I sighed slightly, dropping to my bed. What had just happened? Was the Slytherin heir serious about peace? Did he actually believe the Phoenix's suggestion could work?

I lay there for a few minutes, trying to get past what had happened. _Severus Snape had kissed me_. Twice.

"Harry Potter, you have shamed me tonight."

My mother's voice shocked me into standing.

She was dressed in her nightshift, an intricate thing of lace and embroidery. As usual her hair and makeup was done perfectly.

"The Phoenix guards alerted me to what went on in your room tonight," she said. "I couldn't have been more humiliated—Severus Snape, heir to the Slytherin throne, found _kissing_ my son."

"That did not happen," I explained stiffly. "He was here to discuss the Phoenix's discussion of possible marriage—"

"Don't tell me you're actually considering that nonsense?" She looked horrified, her face pale. "It's insane, and I will not allow it."

I began to protest, but her glare cut me off. "This war will end _without_ you committing suicide by delivering yourself into the snake's lair."

"Mother, the suggestion isn't that absurd. It has some merits—"

"I can see your mind has been poisoned by that Slytherin," she said coldly. "Potter, we're leaving tonight. Gather your things together. We fly in two hours."

"Mother! We can still see the Phoenix tomorrow, at sunset."

"I command it," she continued, ignoring me. "Ronald will send our apologies to the Phoenix. Good night, Potter." She turned to leave.

"I'll be Shehen Shaah on my birthday," I ground out. "I won't have to abide by your decisions."

"Yes, but until then you are my subject and I am your queen: you _will_ obey me." Perhaps realising how harsh her words sounded, she spoke again. "You are also my son, and I am your mother," she said, softer this time. "What mother doesn't want the best for her child?"

I fought to control my emotions and find the mask I had perfected as a child. "Yes, mother," I finally said.

"Good. Now pack up. We're leaving in two hours."

_All that work gone to waste. Will she ever understand? Will this war ever end?_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

_**Faster updates? I probably won't be able to keep it up—school starts tomorrow. Ugh.**_

_**Anyway, a couple of people have left comments along the line of: "Oh, I love the plot! So original!"**_

_**I'm VERY HAPPY that they have reviewed, and with such positive reviews too, but I have to clear something up (otherwise I'll feel guilty). **_

_**THE PLOT OF THIS STORY IS NOT MINE. **_

_**I borrowed it from the story "Hawksong". **_


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Dark burgundy, milord? The dressmaker looked up at me eagerly, her ridiculously oversized hat bobbing up and down. "Personally, I prefer the gold. Maroon is so drab, so dull—it looks like dried blood to me." She shuddered. "And it reminds me of those horrible eyes…you know, the red eyes of the Snape family?" Her face contorted as she assumed an expression of abject horror. "Rumour is that they can _kill_ you," she whispered conspiratorially, "in under a _second_. Of course _I_ don't believe it," she added hastily. "I'm much too sensible for such gossip. And some of the stories that fly around the court! Honestly, milord, some are even saying that you _kissed_ Severus Snape—" Here she couldn't conceal a gleeful smile, "—on the _lips_!"

I managed to refrain from knocking her over the head.

"Why, just yesterday night Lady Lavender—and isn't that the most _adorable_ name?—was telling me about how her pair-bond—you know, Seamus Finnegan, in the Royal Flight—saw the Slytherin prince _with his own eyes._ Now, I don't know about you, but that is _such a lie._ Honestly. The way she goes on about it you'd think he was the _captain,_ or something."

"I think dark burgundy will be fine," my mother interrupted tiredly. "It might help to tone down the rest of the coronation suit."

I very much doubted that.

I was wearing tight, form-fitting breeches finished with a golden garter; the sleeves of my jewel encrusted doublet were puffed and bloated, slashed here and there according to "fashion". My fingers were one mass of jewelled rings and around my neck I wore a gold collar from which hung a diamond as big as a walnut. My clothes were magnificent to match: sumptuous silks, cloths of gold, satins, coloured feathers and of course jewels and precious metals sprinkled everywhere.

"The coat is next," the dressmaker said brightly. "I'm thinking of golds, purples and maybe a splash of crimson. Sapphires, emeralds, topazes, pearls and opals—oh, and rubies! It'll be beautiful," she said dreamily.

Beautiful, indeed.

"We'll see you again next week," my mother said. "Goodbye, Miss Starbright."

The dressmaker gathered her sewing materials together, stashing various fabrics and needles into her large bag, before leaving the room with a curtsy. I sighed in relief as the door closed behind her.

"I'm not wearing this," I said immediately.

"I know," my mother sighed. "It is rather…exuberant." She took another look at the garish clothes the woman had designed. Her mouth puckered in distaste. "I'm not sure what we'll do. Miss Granger is unavailable. Every other seamstress in the country is either dead or horrible at the job."

Hermione would have been ideal. Her elegant style suited me perfectly, and I rather liked some of the work she had been selling at the market. Unfortunately she had gone missing.

"…I wonder where the poor girl has gone," my mother was saying. "It wasn't an attack—the house was in perfect repair. Though the Slytherins may have planned it that way…"

The raids began just a week after I returned from the Phoenix lands. Houses were upturned, shops were ransacked. People were found dead on the street, their wings cut off, left forever grounded. My mother had kept up a strong façade throughout it all, but when she was alone I saw the lines on her face; the tiredness in her eyes. She had upped security measures in Godric's Hollow and posted sentries at various meeting places in the surrounding cities. Tension was at a high as everyone waited for their family to be the next slaughtered.

I felt another pang of shame as I recalled my frantic attempts to persuade Mother that the Slytherin were sincere. She had been right. They were nothing but a bunch of vile, heartless snakes.

Especially Severus Snape.

"Absolute filth… and you wanted to make their prince your pair bond." My mother's voice was sharp and cutting as she berated me yet again. "Tell me, Potter. What could possibly have convinced you that—"

"I don't know," I said warily. "He must have…poisoned me, somehow. Maybe when I was looking him in the eye."

"Potter," my mother's voice was horrified. "Don't tell me you actually…"

"He _did_ put me under some sort of trance," I admitted carefully. "Though I don't think—"

"Do you have no sense at all? After all I've taught you—"

"_Mother_—"

"If I may, milady," the voice of one of my mother's maids stopped our argument immediately: both of us were horrified we had been caught in such an undignified position.

"Yes, Tabitha?" My mother's voice was smooth, as always—I knew I would never have the skill to look so composed.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," she said, "and I think I may have a solution."

"To the raids?" My voice was sharp.

"No, milord. I was talking about your coronation robes. I was just remembering a talk I had with my mother last week, when she was telling me about the beautiful robes the Shehen Shaah, may his soul fly ever higher, wore for his coronation. I thought perhaps, seeing as you didn't have your own, they would be enough?"

"Of course," my mother said. "How could I forget?" She turned to look at Tabitha. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "We very much appreciate it."

The maid flushed. "It was no problem at all, milady." She stood awkwardly for a moment. "If you don't mind, milady, I have some cleaning to do," she said as she bustled out of the room.

I turned to stare curiously at my mother. "Father's robes are still here?"

"Obviously," she replied crisply. "I would never throw them out. They're in the wardrobe."

The wardrobe.

My mother and father had both had separate closets for their clothes, each the size of a large room. Ever since his death my father's closet had remained closed: I couldn't recall any cleaner having gone in it.

"May I go and retrieve it?"

"If you must," my mother sighed. "Be careful in there. It will be dusty."

I nodded before walking quickly to my parent's bedroom: now my mother's bedroom. It was the Shehen Shaah's apartment, the grandest place in the Keep, decorated according to its owner's taste. When my father had been alive it was a warm place, decorated in soft, earthy tones. Now my mother was queen it was colder: the browns and greens had been replaced by cool blues and stark whites.

I had been in this room only once, when I was a small child playing with my brother. I had hidden away in my father's closet, crouching behind the hundreds of clothes. I still remembered the exotic smells and textures. What, I wondered, would have changed?

I was to know the answer soon enough.

The air was heavy and damp; the dust made me sneeze. Everything seemed darker than I remembered it: even the gold outfits were coated in a permanent gloominess. My heart ached as I thought about the cheerful, happy man Father had been.

The coronation robes were dark with age, but I could still see the expert stitching and the magnificent patterns; the gleam of gems sown into the garment. They were nowhere near as flashy as my own robes, for which I was glad.

My mother gave me a rare smile when I put on my father's coronation outfit. Her face lilt up, eyes cast back in memories, and for a moment I saw the beautiful woman she had been.

"It suits you," she murmured.

I thanked her.

After I had changed back into my own clothes and eaten some lunch, my mother and I made our way to the War Room.

The War Room was a recent addition to the Keep; another one of my mother's ideas. She had built it so members of the Royal Flight and Gryffindor Army could talk tactics without being heard: the walls were sealed from sound and there was an emergency exit hidden in the fireplace. Today we were here to discuss the recent raids.

I walked into the room to find its occupants involved in a heated debate.

"Swift attack is the only solution," Sirius Black—captain of the Gryffindor Army—was saying. "Strike them in the heart, so that their whole system falls apart on them."

"We should make use of _strategy_," Ron countered. "It is obvious—forgive me, Captain—that the Slytherin soldiers are far superior to ours. Their bodies are naturally suited to killing: ours are _not._ We are made for the air—it is our greatest advantage, our god-given gift."

"How easily our God deserts us," Sirius said dryly. "Forgive _me_, Captain Weasley, but the Slytherin have denied us our right in the air: they have made poison-tipped arrows, destined to land in our backs. Our only salvation is _quick, savage attack._"

"And have you forgotten their impenetrable fortress?" Ron asked fiercely. "Have you forgotten the innumerable soldiers who are at watch day and night, the archers who stand at ready, the _snakes_ who are prepared to serve your very flesh at their disgusting balls?"

"And have _you_ forgotten the raids which plague our land? The countless women and children murdered in their beds, their wings amputated, every feather stripped until bare skin is revealed? Have you forgotten the horror, the terror that every Gryffindor faces?"

"Sending more soldiers to their lair would be madness," Ron said furiously. "Suicide! A waste of good men."

"There are some who have more faith than you," Sirius shot back. "Fortunately, there are some who are willing to die for their land's freedom."

"There will be no one left to enjoy freedom if we are all _dead_."

"And there will be no one left to die," Sirius growled, "when the Slytherin attack us in our sleep, laughing at our stupidity."

My mother calmly strode in and took her seat at the head of the table. "If I may interrupt you, gentlemen," she said coldly, "we have business to attend to."

"Of course," Sirius and Ron said at once.

My mother gestured for me to take a seat. "The Slytherin," she began, "have decided to ignore our offer of peace and launch a new volley of attacks. I must say I am not surprised. They may play a fine act in front of the Phoenix, but their hearts are blacker than ever." She paused as she took a sip of the wine offered to her by a waiting servant. "I now need your council. What is the best way to respond?"

"As I was saying," Sirius said, shooting an angry glance at Ron, "our only option is to strike back quickly."

"I beg to differ, Captain Black," Ron said. "We must carefully plan our next move—we cannot afford to make any mistakes. Rushing into another war with no plan whatsoever—"

"That will take much too long," Sirius interrupted. "By then the Slytherin will have broken into the Keep, ready to slit our throats."

I thought back to the night Severus Snape had broken into my rooms, in the Phoenix lands. He had seemed so sincere, then… But the raids proved it had all been an act meant to lull us into thinking we were safe. Still, I was reluctant to barge into another war with the Slytherin, especially on their home turf.

"I agree with Ron," I said softly.

Sirius looked angry. "With all due respect, my lord, Captain Weasley's plan is ridiculous."

My mother agreed. "We must retaliate," she said. "However, Ronald is correct in that we shouldn't rush in without thinking."

"I think," I interrupted, "that both plans are good, in their own way. But I propose another solution." I waited until everyone was looking at me. "There is a small possibility that the raids are _not_ the Slytherin's doing—"

The loud protests that Sirius immediately issued stopped me from speaking further. Even my mother looked disgusted. I tried to continue on, regardless of their contempt.

"—and if these raids were _not_ performed by the Slytherin, our attack on their lands would lead to another battle for supremacy, and another few hundred lives lost."

"Your argument is worthless," my mother said. "We already have proof that the raids were done by snakes."

"And what is this proof, mother?" I asked tightly.

"We found scales," she answered. "Scales, Slytherin blood, and the body of a dead snake burnt by his own fire."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter where, my lord," Sirius said. "The point is we _know_ the Slytherins committed these heinous acts."

I felt like smashing my fists against something, preferably his face. But that was unfair. I knew Sirius was telling the truth, or at least what he thought to be the truth.

"Mother," I said, and to my surprise my voice was steady. "My point is this: the raids may be the result of some betrayer snakes, seeking to rebel against their king. If we do not research fully into this matter we risk full-frontal attack."

My mother was silent for a while. Then she raised her eyes to me. "You will be Shehen Shaah in one week. Perhaps it is for the better that I let you make your decisions now." She stood up, her body tense. "Fine, Potter. I will agree to your plan. Let us send spies to the enemy's lands. If they come back with news of rebellion, we will continue our efforts for peace. If, however," her voice was cold, "they send news of plots against Gryffindor, we will strike." She turned to Sirius, sounding every bit the queen she was. "Gather your soldiers," she commanded. "I have a feeling we will be needing them."

The meeting ended quickly. Sirius left first, walking with the proud gait of a soldier, presumably to talk to his regiment. Ron and Mother discussed the deteriorating situation in the markets while I sat quietly. Then they, too, got up to leave. It was getting dark and the cooks would be announcing dinner soon.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

_**Well? Did you like the chapter? Personally, I found it a bit… well, boring. No, wait—it wasn't boring, exactly, it's just that nothing much happened. Hopefully the next few chapters will be more exciting, plot-wise. **_

_**Anyway, please leave a review (even if it is a flame!). **_

_**P.S. Was this chapter too short? Sorry if it was. **_


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

I sighed as I slipped into bed, content after the meal of roast vegetables and thick, creamy soup I had been served in the dining room. But soon I was fidgeting, unable to get to sleep. My mind kept replaying the Slytherin prince talking to me, touching me, kissing me. It was enough to drive me mad. This was the man who had given the orders to kill my father, brother and sister. This was the man leading the raids that left my people bleeding and homeless. Despite the bold words I had spoken to my mother, I was sure Snape was responsible.

I fell into a restless sleep. The images of dying people haunted me: my father, pleading for mercy; my sister, screaming in pain.

I was in the highest tower of the Keep. My breath was coming quickly and my feathers stood on end. There was a chilly, oily quality to the room. I struggled to breathe. I was six years old.

"Harry," someone whispered. I swirled around to see Kate—my sister—behind me, panting. "Hide. They're coming."

I looked up at her curiously. "Who?"

"The Slytherin." Her voice was low and her eyes wide with terror. "Hide," she repeated. "I'll be fine." She looked behind herself as if expecting someone. Her eyes had a wild, fearful look to them that I had never seen before, at least not on her.

"Not without you," I said, shaking my head.

"Harry! I'll be fine, I promise."

Even then I knew that her promise was an empty one.

"Kate Potter," I stated boldly, using her name for the first time. "I _command_ you to come with me."

She simply looked at me, her face pale. Then she smiled. "I'm older than you," she said. Her voice was soft. "You always forget that."

"Come on, Kate," I said. "Hide with me."

She looked sad, so very sad. "They'll know," she said, her voice cracking. "They'll know we're here. It'll be suspicious. The only way is out the window."

"But you can't fit through the window," I breathed, horrified.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she lifted me into her arms. Her body was warm and she smelled like summer and strawberries and vanilla. Her hands around my waist were tight; as if she was afraid she'd never get to see me again.

"The Shehen Shaah is to be protected at all costs," she whispered, quoting the rule book of the Royal Guard. "At all costs."

I pushed and kicked, my voice loud. "Kate! Stop—"

"I love you," she said quickly, her voice thick with tears. "I love you and mother and father and Matthew and you. Never forget that."

"Kate," I whimpered. "Please."

"Sorry," she whispered for the last time, before throwing me out of the window.

I fumbled in the air for a few seconds, plummeting towards the ground at an astonishing speed. The wind blew through my hair and I squeezed my eyes shut. I forced myself to shift forms, the change coming to me after a momentary struggle. I flapped my wings.

When I got back to the window above, everything was quiet. I stared into the room carefully, my ears alert for any noise. Then I saw him.

He was holding her by the arms tightly. I could see blood dripping where his nails had scratched her.

"Pretty princess," he was saying. "Delicate, pretty princess."

She whimpered, eyes closing. Tears made their way down her cheeks. Her dress was ripped and torn.

He took out a long, sharp sword. Its edge gleamed in the light. I saw dried blood on its blade.

"This isn't going to hurt one bit," he smiled, before hacking it through her stomach.

She screamed. He kept on going. Slash, hack, rip, tear… She screamed and screamed and screamed, and I was screaming with her.

Finally she lay still on the floor, blood pooling around her. Her wings lay beside her, torn to pieces.

"Kate," I whispered brokenly.

The scene changed.

Now I was in the dining hall, Remus sat at the table, smiling at me. I smiled back.

"Do you want some soup, Remus?" I asked happily. "I made it myself. Cook let me help her."

"Of course, Harry," he answered. My mother's laughter rang across the hall. I sensed my father's eyes resting on my back.

I carefully ladled a spoonful of the soup into Remus' bowl, taking care not to spill any. He thanked me before taking a sip.

"Why, this is the best soup I've ever—" His expression changed from a smile to a look of horror. "Harry—" He struggled to speak. His body fell from the chair heavily.

"Remus!"

I heard my father get up quickly; calling to the guards, but it was all too late. Remus lay on the floor, frothing. He had been poisoned by the soup meant for me: poisoned by the liquid Cook had added when I wasn't looking.

"Harry," Remus whispered.

The scene changed.

Now I was standing in my bedroom, except it wasn't my bedroom—the furniture was in different positions, covered in blood, and ripped. Severus Snape was reclining on my chair, his hair falling over his eyes. He was wearing black; the fabric was stretched tightly over his abdomen. Even in my dreams he looked terrifying. I felt a slight heat travel through my body.

"Harry," he said, and I shivered at his voice. "I've been waiting for you."

My hair was standing on end. Ripples went through my flesh, goosebumps, and I tried to calm my racing heartbeat. It's a dream, I told myself. Just a dream.

"What have you done to my room?"

He looked amused. "What _haven't_ I done?"

I was suddenly furious. White hot rage coursed through my body: here was the man who had killed my sister, father and brother. Here was the man responsible for all my suffering.

"Get out," I growled; knowing I never could have done so in real life. "Get the hell out of my room."

An eyebrow rose. "Finally, Potter, you're showing some spine."

"What do you want?" I spat. "Do you want to kill me?" I stepped forward, ignoring every signal that told me to run. "Do you want to kill me?" I repeated, fixing my eyes on his.

"It depends," he answered with a smirk. "Are you willing to have sex first?"

With a growl I launched myself at him. "Kill me!" I screamed as I pounded my fists on his stomach. I hauled a punch at his nose and smiled as I heard the sickening crunch and snap of broken bone.

He pushed me off of him and I landed on the ground with a thud. He was much stronger, of course. His eyes were a bright, fiery red as he stared at me. "You broke my nose," he said quietly. "A bad choice."

I watched in fascination the deep crimson blood that trickled down his cheek. Somehow I had always thought it would be…different. Unhuman.

"You deserved it," I said, my voice softer.

"What did I do to deserve that?" he asked with a glint in his eye.

"You really have to ask?"

"Apparently, yes."

"You're responsible for the deaths of my family and friends," I said coldly. "You're responsible for those despicable raids on my—"

"What raids?" he asked sharply.

I laughed; a high, maniacal sound. "The burnings. The killings. The plunder. You know, the things that have been going on for about two weeks now?"

He shook his head. "That's not true."

"Shut up," I said angrily. "You're nothing but a liar. Even in the Phoenix lands when you said you wanted peace—even then you were lying. As soon as you got back you launched another war."

"I did not." His voice was calm; matter-of-fact.

I sat down on my bed heavily. My head was pounding, and all I wanted was to wake up. Wake up from this nightmare.

"How did you get in here?" I asked finally.

"The servant's staircase," he answered, smirking. "It's funny—there are hardly any guards. If you ask me, Potter, I think it's far too easy to get in here. Maybe your Guard isn't as efficient as you'd like."

I sighed. I knew this type of dream; I had had it before. After a while Snape would get violent and attack me, and I would see my mother and sister and brother and father dying with me.

"Why are you here?"

"To talk," he said simply. "I haven't heard from you or your mother since you left the Phoenix."

"For good reason," I said coldly. "You're an evil, conniving snake and we don't want anything to do with you."

"I'm insulted."

"Why?" I asked, suddenly infuriated. "Why attack innocents? Why not me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

I stood up roughly, marching to my closet and pulling it open. I took out the box I had been keeping for a week now.

"Look," I spat. "Look at the feathers, the blood, the pictures… All courtesy of _you_."

Inside the box were many things. There were bloodied feathers, taken from the rotting wings that lay on our streets. There were pictures of dead women and men, all killed in the raids. There was hair, collected from a dying Gryffindor on the battlefield.

My mother thought me insane for carrying such things.

"What is this?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

After a few minutes he looked up. His eyes were burning with intensity, and I had to look away to avoid the deep garnet.

"Describe these raids."

It was only my dream: this I knew. Severus Snape wasn't really here. Anything he said was just what I wanted him to say. Still, I went on with an almost feverish pace, desperate to hear his denial: desperate to hear that he hadn't commanded the raids.

"Slytherins," I began, "have been attacking our people for weeks now. They burn down houses, they slaughter women and children; they steal all that we have. It is barbaric."

"I can assure you that I haven't ordered these raids. Are you sure it's not some other species—?"

"Absolutely," I snapped. "We found scales. And bodies—of _snakes_."

I watched his face slowly harden. "There are traitors among my people, then."

"So it seems."

"I did not know." His voice was low; his eyes pleading with me. "I swear you this, Potter—I did not know."

There it was. The denial. The one I had been expecting.

Why did I have these dreams?

He stood up and began to pace. "Look, Potter, I came here today for a reason. I want—"

He looked at me sharply, "—to marry you."

I closed my eyes in fury. When I spoke, it was in a voice of pure steel. "Must you continue that nonsense?"

"Yes."

I couldn't believe my subconscious was still providing me with this rubbish.

"Well, Snape, I'm afraid I'll have to break your heart. If you have one."

He stepped closer until his body was nearly touching mine. I breathed deeply, trying to calm down, trying to ignore the exotic smell of spices that lingered to his clothes. "Stay away."

"I don't think so, Mr Potter," he said softly. His hands brushed mine, a mere feather of a touch. I sat still, as if frozen.

"You say a marriage between a snake and a hawk would not work. I beg to differ." His face leaned in closer to mine. "I like to think we're more than our animal counterparts. If we can think as humans do, feel pain as humans do…love as humans do…" His lips brushed over mine and I found myself leaning into the touch. "Then surely we're capable of living as humans do?"

I snapped out of my trance, rushing backwards and out of his grasp almost immediately. "Why do you always do that?" I asked furiously, wiping my mouth. "Is it some sort of magic?"

The Slytherin glared. "It isn't magic. I'm not the one doing anything. You're the one who's falling over yourself every time I touch you."

"And you think a marriage between us would work?" I asked, sneering. "We can't go two minutes without something happening."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Come on, Potter. I'm tired of this war. I'm _tired_ of it. I'd kill myself if I thought it would help."

I stood up roughly. "And _I'm_ tired, Snape." I was furious he thought I didn't care. "I'm tired of the blood and the fear and the death—I'm tired of not knowing who will die next. I'm tired of seeing good men and women fall to the ground, lifeless." My voice was a harsh yell. "I'm tired of my people looking to me for guidance, when I have no idea what to do. I'm _sick and tired_ of the way my mother treats me. I'm tired of looking in the mirror and seeing someone I hardly recognise. Bloody fingernails, matted hair, clothes stained with death." I was fighting tears, trying to control the emotion welling deep within me. "And I'm tired of _you_," I shouted. "I'm tired of your face in my dreams. Nightmares. Death. Loss. Fear. Everything. I'm tired of everything."

He was staring at me with a strange look on his face. His eyes were glowing a deep red. I shivered slightly as I caught his intense gaze, highly aware of what I must look like—half dressed, hair falling all over the place.

"Take this," he finally said, placing his hand over mine. The touch was electric.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice high.

"A promise of safety, should you ever decide to accept my proposal."

With shock I stared into the onyx ring glittering in my finger. It was the Snape heirloom.

"Explain," I said, shaking.

"I will ask you one last time to end the war," he said. "I understand it's a big decision—that's why I'm giving you a week to think over it. Come to my castle if you're willing. I'll post trustworthy guards to meet you. Remember, you have only a week. After that…"

Was the man mad? He was asking me to step into Slytherin territory with nothing but a ring to protect me!

"Think it over," he repeated. "Goodbye, Harry." He stretched my name out, as if savouring it in his mouth.

I watched his dark form disappear slowly into the night, leaving me alone in my room. I sat still for a few minutes, jumping at every noise and shying away from the shadows.

I sighed. Everything was so confusing. I longed to walk away from it all—to merge with the humans; live life without having to see another snake again. But as soon as I had the thought, I rejected it. I could never betray my people in that way. Maybe accepting the Slytherin prince's proposal was the right thing to do…?

An abrupt noise to my right made me jump. The room was dark; shadows loomed large on the walls.

No.

Suddenly I was cold, the blood freezing in my veins. A knife was placed at my throat.

"You didn't think I'd let you go that easily, did you?"

I closed my eyes in horror as the nightmare began all over again.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

_**I'm not very happy with this chapter, actually. I'm currently in ANOTHER massive writer's block. **_

_**Ugh. **_

_**Any suggestions, plot-wise? I want to change the plot slightly now. It's been following Hawksong pretty much exactly so far. **_

_**Remember to leave a review… **_


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